Darkness Under the Moonlight
by crabby crab
Summary: The room was too quiet. Worse, the house was too quiet, devoid of the sounds of other life. Renji didn’t like it; he could hear his own heartbeat and Ichigo’s footsteps too clearly. Ren/Ichi. One-shot.


**The Darkness under the Moonlight**

Ichigo was sweating and swearing as he helped Renji move from the tree to the open window of his bedroom. "Fuuuck! Why do you weigh so goddamn much?" he panted, shifting Renji's arm around his shoulders to a more comfortable position.

"It ain't my fault you're just a pansy who had'ta get his ass saved by me," Renji snarled back in annoyance. "I just got injured for your sake, you prick. Be a little grateful why don'tcha?"

"Grateful for what, the fact that you were too slow to get out of the way when I already had?"

The bickering continued as Ichigo helped lever the bleeding Renji over the windowsill and onto the bed. He climbed in himself and stepped over Renji onto the floor. "Hey, get off the comforter, will you? Don't get blood on it!"

Renji grumbled but moved himself off to lean against the side of the desk as he slid to the floor. He was clutching a large gash on his chest as blood seeped from around his fingers, soaking into the material of his uniform and plastering it to his stomach. Ichigo shot him a look, briefly analyzing the wound before opening the door. "Let me go find Kon and get back in my body, then I'll bring up some water from the kitchen."

As the door slammed, Renji closed his eyes and sighed a little. He really had made a stupid mistake, jumping up to block the blow of a Hollow he thought Ichigo hadn't noticed. Of course, it turned out he had noticed and was getting away just fine when, as Ichigo said, Renji attempted to protect him and then failed to fully turn away the strike. The Hollow wasn't exactly that hard to defeat, either, but he had been too preoccupied with monitoring Ichigo's position. Renji had just been careless, and it irked him to no end to have been seen being injured in such an amateur manner in front of Ichigo. The kid would never let him live it down.

His eyes opened again as Ichigo returned to the room, still in his shinigami uniform but carrying some rags along with a bowl of lukewarm water. "Couldn't find Kon or anybody else, for that matter," Ichigo said roughly, opening the closet and rummaging through Rukia's medical supplies. "Looks like they all went out together. The old man must be on another all-night karaoke kick, and I think Rukia's with Orihime tonight." He knelt down in front of Renji, and began inspecting the wound, pulling back the cut edges of black material which clung tackily to him. Renji was quiet as Ichigo began to wipe at the congealing blood with the wet rags.

Ichigo was gentler than he would have thought, thorough but kind in his ministrations. _Just what ya'd expect of any other doctor's son_, Renji thought. Renji watched him at work, his brows knitting together a little closer than normal as he pulled out some ointment and carefully began to spread it over the slash and then cover it with clean cotton. It was difficult to deal with his feelings, especially now that the boy was so close to him. Renji closed his eyes again and let Ichigo move him as he liked, passively accepting his help without the banter which usually marked their interactions.

After Ichigo was done, he stood up holding the bowl of now-cloudy pink water and frowned, then glanced around the darkened room. "It'd be better if you didn't try to go back to Urahara's tonight. That cut isn't too bad, pretty shallow actually, but the less you move around, the faster it'll heal." As he turned to leave the room, Ichigo casually threw his words over his shoulder. "I'll get out the futon Rukia keeps in the closet. Just try not to get blood on anything. I'd rather not have to try and explain it to Yuzu."

Renji's heart began to speed up a little. He became more alert, looking around Ichigo's plain bedroom and the spot on the floor where he assumed his futon would be placed. But then reality gave him a good hard slap as he tried to get up. "Fuckin' mother fucker!" It may not have been a very deep cut, but twisting his body around too much made it burn worse than some of the deeper cuts he'd had. Or maybe that was just the fogginess of memory.

When Ichigo returned yet again, Renji had finally managed to reach a standing position, and the burning had subsided to a dull but persistent throb. Ichigo looked him up and down, then sighed. "You really have to clean up before you can go to bed." He turned to a dresser and opened a drawer, pulling out a pair of navy sweat pants. He tossed them to Renji then helped him over to the bathroom down the hall. Ichigo set out a few more rags left over from bandaging him up and told him to be careful not to soak the dressing while he bathed, and to use the rags to wipe off any extra blood before shutting the door firmly behind him.

Renji sighed. _This's gonna be one long fuckin' night,_ he thought. When he finally came out of the bathroom, hair damp and down and wearing only the sweatpants, Ichigo had already set out the futon for him. He grunted as he walked past, not even glancing at Renji, muttering something himself about, "shower," before moving quickly into the vacated bathroom.

Renji looked down, his wet hair sticking to his forehead and getting in his eyes. The floor with its comforting futon seemed an awfully long distance away. He attempted to quickly swipe the hair away, only to feel that sharp burn start up again. Giving up, he pulled out the chair at Ichigo's desk and sank down onto it. Tonight was strange. His actions were peculiar, even to himself, and Ichigo wasn't acting all the normal either. _I just hope he ain't suspicious. Maybe it's the moon?_ It showed brightly through the window in the darkened room. Neither of them had bothered to turn on the lights; the moonlight was more than enough.

For a few aimless moments, he simply stared at his own hands, scarred and roughened as they were. He could not remember a time when they had not looked like that. Sure, when he was still living in Rukongai his hands didn't have the calluses from sword use that graced them now, but his hands had always had to be tough, grabbing for whatever they could reach and holding tight with a determination born of desperation.

Renji jerked around at the quiet click of the bedroom door closing, the sudden rush of pain pulling a low hiss from his throat. Ichigo was still rubbing his damp hair with a towel, his face obscured as he turned into the room. "Why aren't you asleep yet?"

"Couldn't sleep with hair all over m' face. And I can't braid it without fuckin' up the big cut." Renji waited a few moments, then started the careful process of pushing himself out of the chair. "Don't worry 'bout it. I can deal for a night. Just needed to sit for a bit 'fore I tried to lay down."

The room was too quiet. Worse, the house was too quiet, devoid of the sounds of other life. Renji didn't like it; he could hear his own heartbeat and Ichigo's footsteps too clearly. Suddenly, he was shoved gently back down onto the desk chair, still facing the moonlight streaming through the open window.

"I can do it for you." That was all the warning Ichigo gave, and suddenly his hands were buried deep in the tangled mess of Renji's hair. His hands pulled and tugged, a soft tsk reaching Renji's ears where he sat, posture stiff and uncomfortable as Ichigo began to untangle his hair. "Why do you keep it this long if it's this much of a pain in the ass, anyways? Seems like more trouble than it's worth."

"Wouldn't be so much trouble if ya just used a brush. Doesn't ev'rybody own a comb at least?" Renji's face felt hot, and he was thankful for the bleaching hue of the light.

"Look at how long my hair is, dumbass. Does it look like I need one? Hands do just fine."

"Well, it sure as hell looks like you don't use one."

"Fuck off. And answer my damn question. Why do you keep it so long?"

Renji laughed, short and sudden, ignoring the uncomfortable tug the skin around the gash gave. _I can do this if we just keep talkin'. Just like always. This ain't nothin' special. Just Ichigo and me, bullshittin' – ain't nothin' intimate about it._ "It's not much of a reason, I guess, but I do have one."

A small smile only the moon could see spread across his face. "Rukia and me grew up in Rukongai, right? Well, there ain't much to look at in Rukongai, and for good reason. Standing out there won't bring anything but trouble, and I did my best not too. But when your hair's so damn bright, sometimes it can't be helped. It _was_ a big pain in the ass, really, shopkeepers always remembering me and all."

"But one day, I saw this girl coming outta a shop in a nicer district. Actually, I was gonna try and lift her purse while I asked for some water – she looked like she had money, and by this I mean her clothes were clean, kinda worn but not patched up, and she didn't have that damn miserable look in her eyes so many women from the worst parts of Rukongai get." Renji paused, a derisive chuckle coloring the moonlight.

"She didn't push me away, so I could tell she didn't know the drill. People from the really nasty districts always know. I got a coin from her, better'n what I normally got stealin' in the usual places. I was so shocked I forgot to go after the rest a' her purse. She gave me this look so's you could tell she felt bad fer me, then she goes, 'You've got really beautiful hair,' and pats my head like I'm her little brother or somethin'."

"Walked off like it was nothin'. I thought for ages she must ha' been some sorta nobility, to look so good and be able to give me that coin without a thought. Realized once I got to Seireitei she couldn'ta been more than somebody's servant girl, sent to pick something up. Still, that was the first time anybody'd said something so nice to me, first time I ever got a compliment. I remembered it, ya know? So I keep my hair long. Ain't much of a story, I guess, but it means something to me."

Renji let out a slow breath. _Like he really gave a fuck about that old story. Just stick to light shit, Abarai, and you'll be fine._ Ichigo's hands were still working through Renji's tangled hair, smoothing out the knots with a practiced hand. Renji was relaxing, bit by bit. "So when'd ya learn ta do this, anyways? Don't seem like you're th' type to have ever grown your hair out."

Ichigo's hands suddenly stilled, and Renji wished he could have seen Ichigo's face; it felt like he had taken a sudden misstep in the conversation. But where? The steady pulling started back up with no acknowledgement of its lapse except a more pronounced roughness. "I do have two younger sisters, jackass. How do you think I learned?"

Renji breathed again. "I was just askin', no need to be so bitchy about it." _Good, this is what we need. Joke with 'im. _"The thought a you tryin' to braid your little sisters' hair, fuck, I'm sure that was a sight. I mean, the blonde one's sweet, but the other, she's got your stubborn attitude. Musta been hilarious."

Ichigo's hands slowed, but did not stop again. "You could say that. Well, I guess you told me one story. I can tell you one too." Renji felt a sudden nervousness bloom in his stomach at the odd tone of Ichigo's voice. But maybe that was just more pain from his wound. _Yeah, that's all._ _And he don't sound a little shaken up, not one bit. And things are normal between us right now, normal as they ever are, anyways. I mean here we are, talkin' like normal, he keeps runnin' his fingers through my hair like any normal friend would do, I just told him an intimate story from my fucked up childhood, and he's soundin' like he's about to return the favor. Oh, fuck._

"You know my Mom's dead, right?" Ichigo sounded too casual, a strange lilting quality invading his voice. "I'm sure Rukia's told you by now, how my mother was killed. She saw that filthy thing for herself." Renji shifted uncomfortably, his silence answering the question clearly enough. That had been an awkward conversation, but one Rukia had felt needed to be held. She wanted someone else watching out for Ichigo after seeing his fanatical and, in her opinion, idiotic reaction to Grand Fisher's reappearance years later. Personally, Renji felt that it hadn't been his business to know if Ichigo wasn't telling him.

"We were all a mess after, the old man especially. Not that I blamed him. But he couldn't get himself together, and life still had to go on even though Mom was gone. While he was locking himself away in their bedroom, nobody was doing laundry or making sure everyone was eating. Nobody was helping Karin and Yuzu get ready for school anymore. They were still pretty young." _Dipshit, you were still pretty young, too. _ Renji would've laughed at Ichigo's focused blindness, if it hadn't been so heartbreaking.

"So I learned. I started doing the housework, even though I was pretty bad at it. I ruined a whole load of laundry the first time I tried to use the washer. And when it came time for Karin and Yuzu to go back to school, I got them ready, packed their lunches. Gave them both some money in case the lunches were shit, too. I couldn't bring myself to go, but I made sure they went and that they at least thought I did, because it's what Mom would have done." Ichigo's fingers smoothed the last snarl from Renji's too-red hair and started separating it into three plaits.

"And of course, I even helped them do their hair for school, just because Mom always had. I was a mess at that, too, for awhile. Both the girls had been growing their hair out, but wanted it out of the way for school. Karin's was like Dad's, silky black, so I could pull it up in a ponytail for her and it was fine. But Yuzu's hair was more like Mom's, wavy and light. It wouldn't behave if she kept it in a ponytail, though – it wanted to fly all over the place. Mom had braided it for her every morning before school, and Yuzu hadn't learned how yet. I felt bad the first time I sent her off to school with her big puff of a ponytail. She smiled and said thanks, but I still felt bad." Ichigo's fingers flew, his deft movements making a perfect braid in no time at all.

He moved around the desk chair and stared out the window, but didn't stop speaking, didn't even pause. "She came home crying. Yuzu told me a big dog had scared her while they were walking home, but Karin let me know she'd gotten teased at school. So I learned to braid. It wasn't that hard. I went to one of the housewives in our neighborhood Mom had been friendly with and had her teach me. The next day, I braided it for her. It wasn't a big deal at all. I just wanted to make things easier for them, do something for them." Suddenly, Ichigo flopped bonelessly onto his bed. His voice was muffled by the comforter, but continued, steady.

"I had to get up really early to get everything done for all three of us, and they might have been little but they noticed and tried to help in their own ways. Karin stopped crying, but more than that, she started to be really guarded with her emotions. I guess she thought she needed to toughen up to keep anybody from worrying about her. She wanted to take care of herself as much as she could."

"After a little bit, Yuzu started helping with the housework, and even Dad eventually came back to the world like nothing was wrong with Mom being gone. Yuzu was a hell of a lot better than me at chores, especially cooking—we were all thankful for that. And finally one day, I realized she didn't need my help anymore—that none of them did—and she was managing the household just fine." Finally, Ichigo fell silent. It seemed like the end of the story, and the silence rolled back out into the room. Renji pushed himself up finally, inspecting his expertly braided hair with surprise as he moved carefully back down to the floor and his futon with a minimum of wincing. _Okay, not so bad. I'm safe._

Suddenly Ichigo's voice began again, but slower, and monotonous in a way it had not been before. "But I still helped Yuzu braid her hair. For some reason she just never could get that knack, I don't know why, she was always so good at everything else. And then one day maybe a month after Mom's death, I come home, and she'd cut it all off. All that beautiful hair that looked just like Mom's. She just said, 'Oh, it was time for a change, Ichi-nii. Besides, I'm getting older. Braids are for little girls.'" He shifted on the bed so he could look down at Renji.

Ichigo's face turned fully towards him for the first time since they'd entered his bedroom. His eyes were bottomless. "I fucking took it from them. Their childhoods disappeared the second Mom did. I ruined this family, and even now they still try and protect me." He turned over, pulled the covers up, and faced the window. The house's stillness was only more pronounced in the sudden hush. "Don't try to protect me. Too many people get hurt that way."

In that moment, Renji felt so old. His years pressed down on him, choking him with the weight of things forgotten and things he could only wish to forget. He felt his own brokenness, his own inability to fix himself. And he felt Ichigo's too. So fucking young, and already such a bitterness. He wanted to laugh as he moved to stare up at the darkened ceiling. His warped fascination with such a messed up, young little thing confused him. And yes, though Ichigo could beat him into the ground, had even beaten his own Taichou, he knew Ichigo was still young by anyone's standards. He still had plenty more sadness to wade through in his lifetime.

Maybe Renji was attracted so much simply because they were so similar. But regardless, in that moment he knew he would never act on his desires. _Like he wants me, or anybody else, to watch over him. Like he needs anymore problems than he already has. Fuck, like _I _do. It's fine. I can still support him in what he does as a friend. That's enough. I'll make it be enough._ He closed his eyes to the bright moonlight falling on his face, finally mustering up the strength to ask, "Hey, Ichigo, d'ya think ya could close the curtains or somethin'? Too bright."

An unintelligible grunt sounded from the bed, but as the light behind his eyelids bled away, Renji heard the curtains slide shut.


End file.
